


Remnant Witch Trial

by ladydragona



Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, Mysterious Wizards are Mysterious, also witch is a gender neutral term, qrows bad luck takes a turn for the worst, should i warn for fire?, theres fire, villagers aren't that smart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18738517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona
Summary: This was it. Angry mob. Raised pitchforks. Blazing torches. Qrow Branwen hadn’t expected the sleepy little village to turn on him faster than they welcomed him, but that was just his luck wasn’t it?





	Remnant Witch Trial

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt: https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/post/184677274415/otpprompts-imagine-your-otp-in-the-medieval-era

This was it. Angry mob. Raised pitchforks. Blazing torches. Qrow Branwen hadn’t expected the sleepy little village to turn on him faster than they welcomed him, but that was just his luck wasn’t it?

A swift kick in his back sent him to his knees and the crowd surged ever closer. The guards he was shackled too kept the villagers from over taking him, but that didn’t stop them from spitting and throwing all manner of rotten food in his direction.

The guards yanked at his chains. “Keep movin’.”

Qrow stumbled back to his feet, just narrowing avoiding a cabbage that flew past his head.

“Witch!”

“Warlock!”

“Bad luck, he is!”

Qrow glared at the massive flock of black birds that had recently made the town their home and started this whole mess. Five to six birds rested on every building, and even more had taken to the nearby fields. It wasn’t HIS fault they had eaten most of the grain. It wasn’t like he controlled them, not that telling the village leader that had made much of a difference.

The birds had arrived the same night he did and by the time morning had come, most of the falls harvest had been eaten. But that had just been the beginning. 

Qrow Branwen had never stayed anywhere long, not if he could help it. Traveling from village to village, town to town, always moving. Never getting too comfortable anywhere. Because if he did? Bad things happened. He didn’t know why, or how, but he was a magnet for bad luck.

His mothers death in childbirth, his village being ransacked by bandits, being adopted by said bandits, then abandoned by them when increasingly improbable bad things kept happening. His entire life had been one bad roll of the dice after another, so perhaps his fate of being executed in a back-water village with nary a copper to his name should have been less surprising than he found it.

The guards dragged him into the center of town, where they had set up a large wooden stake surrounded by kindling. Nearby stood the village leader: some old man whos name Qrow hadn’t bothered to remember.

They shoved him to his knees before the old man.

“Good and honest people,” Qrow had to stop himself from scoffing out loud, “we gather today to pass judgment on this here man!” The crowd cheered and booed. The village leader motioned, and the guards dragged him to the stake, forcing him to stand with his back to it and tied his wrists behind him. The ropes tied tight enough to leave bruising.

Qrow clenched his fists so hard he was sure he broke skin. Judgment? This isn’t judgment. Not a single idiot here is impartial. This is a farce. And I’m already dead. He’d known it the moment the old man had put him in chains and left him to stew in a cell for days while he ‘gathered evidence’. They hadn’t even given him food or water. Probably hoping he’d die in his cell and save them the trouble.

“Those who bring evidence of his sorcery, please step forward.”

Four people had stepped out of the crowd, he only recognized the innkeeper who’d rented him a room the night he arrived.

The youngest of the four approached and the old man nodded at him to speak. “I am Whitman, representing the farmers here in the village. The night this man came in,” He pointed at Qrow, “a whole flock of birds came with him. They’ve eaten almost all of our grain and he refuses to dismiss them! We’ve tried waving fire and hitting them with our tools, but they keep coming back! They must be bewitched. Look! See!”

Every one looked, even Qrow, gasping and screaming at the sight. In the short time they’d been at this farce of a trial, the birds had gathered. Now every building was covered, to the point that those who couldn’t get a spot on the roofs took to circling over head.

Of course this only made the crowd louder. A chorus of overlapping voices calling for his death.

The old man raised his arms, silencing the crowd. “The trial will continue! Thank you, Whitman. Next witness!”

An older woman approached this time. “I’m Maybell, we have a ranch just outside the village. The morning this man came into town, half of our heifers fell ill and lost their calves. They were all healthy before. He must have cursed them!”

Qrow growled. “How in the hells am I suppose to have-” The blunt end of one of the guards pole-arms slammed into his shoulder, the pain sending stars through his vision. Yeah, that’s probably dislocated.

Maybell was dismissed and the next person approached before Qrow was able to pull himself together enough to pay attention. Every breath and movement now sending spikes of pain down his arm.

The innkeeper, whom he’d joked with and shared a pint the night he arrived, now stood before the village elder.

He shot Qrow a quick, apologetic, look. “Name’s Martin. Night he stayed at the inn, all my milk and produce spoiled. I’d just bought the stuff, shouldn’t have gone bad that quick.”

“Thank you, Martin.”

The innkeeper nodded and scurried back to the crowd.

“Now that our witnesses have brought forth their evidence, I would like to call Speaker Frederick forward.”

The last of the four who’d came out of the crowd approached. The black robes and gold and purple stole signified him as a priest of the Brother Gods. He turned as he addressed the crowd. “Good people, as a priest of The Brothers allow me inspect this man and determine if he is possessed by evil sorceries.”

The priest proceeded to circle the pyre, chanting his prayers and swinging a lit incense burner. The crowd was quieter than they had been the entire trial. The priest circled three times, then came to a halt in front of Qrow. He lifted his eyes from the smoke of the burner, making eye contact with Qrow for the first time. They stared at one another for a beat, before the priest let out a gasp and stumbled backward and fell on his ass.

He pointed a now shaking hand a Qrow. “This man! His eyes!”

The village elder rushed to help the priest to his feet. “His eyes?”

“His eyes are red! The color of evil!”

The crowd surged with too many voices yelling over each other, yelling over the priests shrieks. 

Behind the priest and elder a glimpse of green caught Qrows eye.

A man, or woman: he really wasn’t sure, with a green cloak embroidered with silver that covered them from neck to feet. Dark glasses and a mop of silver hair obscured a face that showed no signs of age.

“Tell me. Do you WISH to live?”

Qrow blinked. The voice sounded as if it came from right next to him but also far away at the same time. Was it that person? In the green?

“What?” His voice was horse, barely above a whisper.

The priest noticed. “He’s communing with evil spirits! Quick, burn him!”

The noise of the crowd rose to a crescendo, but Qrow didn’t notice. Nothing else existed except the person in green.

“Do you wish to live? Answer me, quick. There isn’t much time!” The voice echoed in his mind and the face of the person in green became intensely focused. Was that a mans voice?

The guards and crowd pushed toward the pyre, some even just throwing their torches in his direction.

“I- I don’t understand.”

A torch finally landed in the pyre, catching quickly. Flames spreading to the kindling.

“I can save you! But you have to WANT me to. DO YOU WISH TO LIVE?”

The fire was spreading quickly. Too quickly. Qrow could feel the heat getting ever stronger

He stared at the green cloak. “What kind of question is that? Of course I want to live. Who doesn’t?”

The flames were growing higher now, the heat becoming more uncomfortable by the second. 

The green cloak vanished.

Qrow looked wildly around the crowd, but only angry snarling faces glared back at him.

The fire was licking at his boots. He kicked, pulling his feet put as close as he could. The heat an unbearable roar now. The flames blocking his view.

This is where I die. Did I just hallucinate that person in the green cloak?

A breeze of cool air was a sudden, but welcome change to the heat of blaze that surrounded him.

“Steady yourself. This usually makes first timers sick.”

The arm that was suddenly around his shoulder made Qrow cry out and whip his head toward the sound of the familiar voice despite his protesting injury. Now up close, he could see they were a man and that the mop of hair and glasses obscured warm amber eyes.

“How did you-”

The man suddenly chanting and waving his hand in complicated motions cut Qrow off.

“Whats that!?”

“Inside the pyre!”

“It’s an evil spirit! Conjured by the witch!”

“More fire!”

The man in green flung his hand forward and everything spun. Swirling green and silver filled Qrows vision, replacing the red and yellow flames. He was moving. He didn’t know how, or why, but he was. The mixing colors and feeling of being shoved against a hard surface while spinning made his stomach lurch.

It didn’t last long. Qrow was slammed into the ground. Gasping for breath and trying to make his vision stop swimming. He wasn’t spinning. He knew he wasn’t spinning. His stomach didn’t believe him and Qrow emptied what little contents it had left.

“I did warn you.” The hand now rubbing his back was just as much a surprise as the voice coming from near his ear. 

Turning his head too quickly toward his would-be savior made his stomach lurch again and Qrow found himself leaning into the man (who smelled surprisingly nice), having lost most of his strength.

“Who the hell are you?” He managed to choke out.

“An actual Witch.”

Qrow didn’t get a chance to question this before his vision faded to black.

~

His shoulder and wrists ached: that was the first thing Qrow noticed. The second was that he was lying in a bed that was far more comfortable than he was use to.

Peeling his eyes open he also noticed he wasn’t anywhere he recognized.

The room was small and sparsely furnished with just the bed, a small table, and a chair. Though from where Qrow was laying, they all seemed fairly well made.

He slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, his back and shoulder protesting the whole way.

How long was I out?

His arm was done up in a sling and his wrists, though bruised and red, were at least usable.

What the hell happened to me?

His brain was still foggy, but he knew he needed to move, to figure out what happened and where the hell he was.

Qrow struggled to his feet and stumbled for the partially ajar door, soft light and sounds coming from behind it.

He tried to just peak out to take stock of his situation, but his still sleeping legs almost gave out beneath him and Qrow grasped at the door frame. The door itself swinging open freely.

The room, or house as he supposed, was covered floor to ceiling with various rugs and tapestries of all different colors and textures. Dried herbs hung in the few opened windows and what walls weren’t covered by cloth, were instead covered with shelves full of books and knickknacks.

Seated at a desk at the far side of the room was a familiar timeless face and silver hair. Green and silver cloak thrown over his chair, dark vest over a green shirt and glasses slipping down his nose.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Oh! I hadn’t realized you woke.”

Qrow suddenly remembered everything that had transpired up to this point and he felt his face redden for entirely no reason: though it might have been from remembering how close the supposed witch had been to him before he passed out, not that he would say as such.

Qrow stumbled back into the room he came from, not entirely sure what he was going to do now or what this ‘witch’ planned to do to him.

The witch was at his side in an instant. “You really should not be up yet.” He lead Qrow back to the bed, sitting him down gently. Qrow noted that he smelled of fresh herbs and parchment.

“M’ fine.”

“You’re really not.” And he was gone, faster than Qrow could keep up with. He couldn’t tell if it was magic of some sort, or if he really still was that out of it.

The witch returned with a bowl of something that smelled good enough to make him realize how hungry he was.

“Eat. You’ve been out for some time.”

Qrow didn’t have the strength to argue and this gave him the chance to not only let his mind clear from the fog of sleep, but to also look over his strange host who had taken the nearby chair while he ate. He was definitely Qrows type: tall, lean, and pretty to boot. Someone he would have probably flirted with mercilessly had they met in a tavern or inn and not on a blazing pyre intended to kill him.

The soup he was offered was good. Better than anything he’d had in months, possibly years. And now that his brain wasn’t entirely mush, he had questions.

“So. Why’d ya save me?”

He cocked his head every so slightly. “Do I need a reason to do a good deed?”

Qrow narrowed his eyes at him between spoonfuls. “In my experience, most people don’t do ‘good deeds’ for nothin’. Unless Witches aren’t people.”

He chuckled. “No, no. I’m definitely ‘people’.” He paused in thought for a moment. “I suppose it’s because I don’t enjoy seeing someone accused and punished for something they did not do.”

Qrow raised an eyebrow and leaned towards him. “And how did you know I was falsely accused? I could’a been a Witch or whatever they thought I was.”

The witched smiled enigmatically, unflinching from Qrows sudden closeness. He even mirrored Qrow, leaning towards him to the point that their noses almost touched. “This is true, however any witch worth their merit would know magic doesn’t cause strange occurrences like that and would not have been caught in the first place.”

Qrow hadn’t expected him to copy his move and suddenly felt himself at a lose for words. It really was a crime for a man to be as pretty as he was. “I – uh,” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t catch your name.”

The witch stood and took the now empty bowl from Qrows hands, their fingers brushing ever so slightly. He turned to leave, stopping just shy of the door to glance back at Qrow. “Ozpin. My name is Ozpin.”

Qrow nodded numbly, still very much focused on the ghost of cool fingertips that had brushed his own.

It took him longer than he cared to admit to get his thoughts sorted, but when he did, Qrow rushed to the door.

His host, Ozpin, was standing at a sink manually cleaning the bowl he’d just used. He didn’t look up, but he did smile. “There’s more, if you are still hungry.”

Qrow slowly shook his head. “No, uh – not to be a burden or anything, I do kinda owe you, is there anything I can do?”

Ozpin paused in his cleaning, turning to Qrow. “For now, rest and recuperate. Your shoulder has not fully healed. We can discuss an arrangement once you’re in better health.”

Qrow nodded slowly at him. He wasn’t use to people treating him, well treating him like an actual person. “Right. Well uh – thanks for food, then. It was good.” Just good!? Real smooth Branwen.

“You’re very welcome. Please, make yourself at home here and let me know if you require anything.”

“Yeah, sure, will do.” He could feel his fatigue catching back up with him. “I think I’ll lay back down then. Yeah.” Qrow made his way back to the bed.

He still wasn’t convinced Ozpins motives were entirely benign, but at least he was hot.

**Author's Note:**

> I might add a 'what happened later' chapter sometime in the distant future, but until then consider this completed!


End file.
